Wingless
by Safire Lupe
Summary: "Despite popular belief, demons still have wings. Only when they fall again do they finally lose them. But only when they lose them do they learn how to fly." A side story of DEMONS FALL FIRST, taking place between chapter 10 and 11 of the story. ONESHOT. Can probably stand on its own though. Slight SebXOC if you squint your eyes.


_**READ THIS BEFORE GOING ON TO AVOID STUPI– I mean, CONFUSION!**_

_This has been on my mind for awhile, so I got sidetracked from finishing chapter 11 of DFF. This oneshot, or more like a __**side story**__, is set in between season 1 and 2, or more specifically in between the already published chapter X and the still ongoing chapter XI of my main Kuroshitsuji fanfiction __**Demons Fall First**__. I suppose this story can stand on its own, even if my OC and her nature is mentioned here, and I tried to put enough detail so this oneshot wouldn't confuse those who have not read the original story. If you do get confused though or find the story line interesting, you can always read Demons Fall First (pretty please, it would be nice to have more readers)._

_But the true intention of publishing this would be to catch DFF readers attention, as it seems __**none of them is aware that Demons Fall First is now in the M Rated section. **__However I do have thoughts to put it back to T, since the supposedly M-ratedness of the story was so mild a dog wouldn't even be aroused if they could read it. So I'm still thinking about it._

_Now this is a shorty, but it's the best I could come up with. Also, consider this my birthday celebratory fanfic. I just turned 20 a few days ago. Hehehehe. I'll stop laughing now because now I have to reveal the horrible truth: __**I do not own Kuroshitsuji**_**, **_I do own the OC, Viessa Heatherworth, and the concepts of Fallen Demons, and basically the whole Demons Fall First arc. _

_Onwards!_

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**WINGLESS**

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Despite popular belief, demons still have wings.

They are made of the finest of all organics and elements; shaped in the most complex but beautiful architecture; ornate in a dazzling array of colors even humans cannot name; and crafted to surpass the strength of gold and silver combined. A work of art the angels themselves learned to envy, and so the demons learned to hide them from their eyes, which had probably grown dull by the dreary eternal sunshine of the so-called heaven.

They are as unique to every demon as it is to a human thumb mark. Their degree of exquisiteness is a reminder of rank and nobility. Their range of design is based on their nature and persona. The different moth demons show different patterns of large, dusty, yet earthly colored wings; The arachnid demons always had wings made of unique web patterns, which would shimmer with dew drops or blood, or the web strings would light in neon colors, or shape into eight long legs – whatever they appear they are all as strong as steel; The canids and lupuses as well as the felids awe the underworld with their fur textures, the avians with their feathery wings set in different colored patterns, while the reptilian kinds present dragonic scales or leathery bat-likes. Those who control the elements: the water demons grace inferno with wings of waterfalls, bubbles, ice and snow; the fire starters carry their blazing wings of lava, embers, or ash; those of the terrestrial domains pass the circles with wings of ivy, thorns, crystals and stone; the aerial types can rage a storm with wings of trunades, tornados, and typhoons. Lowlife demons are born with wings as small as that of angels, yet all the more majestic than those pure beings can ever dream of, while the wings of those ancient and old but amazingly legendary have never been seen personally by ordinary (by demon standards) eyes, but to the very rare who have say that they were capable of blocking light, like a black hole – the mystery of it all makes the wings even more magnificent.

They cannot use them for flying though, unlike that of angels, but they ever so grace their backs in contrast to their grotesque frontal features. They temporarily vanish every time they visit the earth, when they take up the disguise of perfection, as though they enveloped their hideousness to create the fleshy mask of utmost beauty and deception. So they say the _more beautiful the human form, the more beautiful the demon's wings._

And Sebastian Michaelis had beautiful wings.

The length of his wings ran almost more than twice than his height in demon form. They were ebony, with only the slightest hint of crimson, and they trail his back in a floating manner like a majestic black cape. Made of crow feathers of different sizes, they looked almost fragile to the ordinary eyes (again, by demon standards), but in truth their edges are as sharp as newly made daggers and as slick and razor as a samurai's blade. They can cut through almost anything, be it bone or diamond, and to those who dare get tempted to touch his beautiful and precious wings losses their fingers or (eventually) their lives.

Sometimes he would walk through a crowd of fiends and spawns, where they would circle around him. He would then deliberately outstretch his wings, and the feathers would erect themselves and open wide, the blade-like edges glistening, and he would look like the large crow that he is in preparation of flight.

He was always a show off, the Crow demon, and he would smile ever so arrogantly as he gain the awes and amazement of everyone, before he tenses the muscles of his shoulder blades to release several feathers from their quills to shot like bullets and target every defiled being in the circle – slicing, wounding, butchering – A gruesome massacre by the tips of his wings, his _pride _and _joy_.

Oh Sebastian indeed has beautiful wings. Beautiful and deadly.

In his human mask, his wings take shape, shrouding his indecent appearance. With hair as black as his feathers, eyes as red as the blood that his feathers garnish when cutting flesh and limbs, bodily contours and facial features elegantly masculine as graceful as his powerful wings follow behind him, and a mischievous smile of his lips, set on his face cunningly, as he hides from the world a murderous intent – that any more time you gawk in wonder, distracted at his seemingly perfectness, will he set his blades out and lash out at your throat. There is always a sense of joy in seeing blood on his wings as much as he enjoys blood on his hands.

But only one, _tiny_ bit bothered him about his wings. That tiny bit that bothered him is the fact that he cannot _fly_.

He was a Crow Demon – _a bird!_ Yet he cannot fly. Where is the justice in that? A hatchling, upon being old enough to take wing, develops the instinct of flight as soon as it leaps off its nest in an attempt to catch a wondering insect, its prey. Those who are successful earned itself an easy meal, and would ultimately be fated a successful life as well as the freedom and happiness of soaring up the horizon. Those who fall eventually fall into despair. They either crush upon the ground or is severely injured with a never-ending pain. There is torture in trying to hide from the many larger predators of the land, as well as the attack of crawling insects biting down on the thin flesh and injecting their anaphylactic toxins. If, for some reason, they continue to live long enough on the dirt of the ground, it is mandatory to find food that suit or substitute for its diet, a diet that could only be found on high tops of trees, in order to continue on living even if it means being glued to the ground for the rest of its time. They will always look up the sky, to their brothers and sisters as they soar away from the trials, tortures and terrors of the earth.

As much as the angels envy their wings does he envy their ability of flight. How he always imagine his large black wings glide across the mountains, looking down at the maggots below, maybe even rain blades upon their heads. So long as he is in the sky is he safe from any form of retribution. Free as any bird.

But there is always a chain tying him, pulling him back down, _way down_, to the hellish fires and agonizing screams of misery. Forced to fight for survival. Forced to scavenge the right food to suit his needs. On the very day they were spawned, they were all fated to fall from their nests.

Sometimes, in order to obtain the right kind of nutrition, he needs to be chained _again_. Freedom is very vague in the eternal life of a demon. But all these chains grants him a hefty prize, and by the time one chain is broken after granting the key holder his greatest gruesome wish is when he will receive one amazing meal set on a silver platter. This is all enough to cloud the idea of freedom from every demons mind, so that they will so willfully allow their beautiful wings to be chained down in order to claim a pleasant surprise.

All fallen birds would rather stay put where they are, where they will sooner or later die waiting for the agony to end. But what if they decide to try again? What if they were able to make their way to a cliff's edge and jump, in one more futile attempt to fly?

The chains that bind them to the earth and the underworld would not allow that freedom. No demon is stupid enough to try that test. It may be possible for an ordinary bird to learn to fly again, but a demon can never do.

But those kinds of fallen birds are also stubborn birds – stubborn demons. So persistent is their hunt to attain freedom will they go beyond their boundaries and wonder to the very edge, even if it means deliberately breaking their chains. They will jump, jump with all their might, a leap to escape…

…and then they will fall…

…and as they fall, they lose their wings. The feathers breaking from the skin and cracking to pieces as the wind takes it away.

And yet, they are finally flying. Finally free. _How annoying._

Well…that was what he suspects…what he imagined for it to be. Because every time he sees _her_, he tried to pear into her true from, only to find no wings adoring her back.

"Sebastian?" a soft whisper called his current name, and the crow demon glances to his side and fixes his red eyes – as red as the blood that his feathers garnish when cutting flesh and limbs – at a pair of deep-set purple orbs, half-lidded and dazy after the night's rendezvous. Her pale-gold curls splayed around her head and shoulders, tangling on his fingers as they lay bare on the floor with legs intertwined.

This was _Viessa Heatherworth_, one stubborn bird who decided to take that leap that eventually plunges herself to attaining free will.

She ran a hand through his black hair – as black as his majestic feathers – her fingers massaging his scalp. Outside, the rain had calmed slightly, the pitter-patter the only sound echoing in the abandoned mansion. His young master – his long-awaited dinner – a vessel lying on the bed of that same room, having just lost his soul to another demon. This is the trials of them being chained to the ground, having to battle it out to obtain that one good meal suitable to their needs, constantly wriggling the prying hands away from his hard-earned food.

He continued to fix his gaze on her, contemplating and imagining just what her wings might have looked like before she took that fateful leap. Surely they would be as majestic and as beautiful as his, for the female _fallen demon_ was indeed a sight to behold. It would also be as deadly as it is magnificent, for she is a strong and powerful demoness. Though their maybe some fragility in the built of her wings, for her stubborn black heart is feeble – the result of a pathetic romance between her and her master, which led her into the decision of breaking her chains, leading into a love story of a demon and a human that ended in tragedy. He inwardly laughs at his thoughts and pulled her closer to him, always intent in making her forget about that human.

No longer able to hold the question within him, Sebastian whispered audibly enough as he tucks a gold strand behind her ear. "Do you remember what your wings looked like?"

Confusion etched on the female's face. It took awhile for her to process his words before it finally clicked on her. She lolls her eyes upward, as if thinking for a second.

"Well of course," she began, "I've had them for such a long time. It is difficult to simply forget them."

The crow demon creased his eyebrows, a frown evident on his lips, "But now they're gone." He said it, with a slightest hint of concern in his tone. A demon's wings are their pride and joy, the only thing that angels are even bothered to be jealous about. It was their only sense of vanity in a world in which they portray themselves as revolting. Sebastian would simply fall miserable where he to suffer such a fate as losing his precious wings. He yearned to fly, to be like a bird, but if it meant losing his wings than he would not be a bird at all.

But if they are truly gone, why is she here before him in human flesh, with the perfectness and beauty only demon wings can cloth her? He had asked her this.

Viessa simply shrugs, explaining that she is not very affected by that known fact. She needed not to dwell on such tribulations. She never really desired to have wings in the first place. Other demons tend to boast about their almighty wings, but she finds no enjoyment in such acts. Sure, hers was much more beautiful than any of those demons could rub their egotism into, but she always found them a burden on her back, being only used good for changing appearances during contracts. They were the sole reason for her binding to hell, a place she is too disgusted to ever return, and is very glad to be finally released from the chains that bind her.

"You truly are a deviant to the deviants." He said to her, bewildered from her point of views that oppose all that is demonic in their nature. Viessa whole-heartedly giggles.

She was a Fallen Demon. A demon who took that leap by her own choice and was granted free will – a ticket to freedom from hell.

Sebastian thought he saw something fade in from behind the purple-eyed female demon. Large wings, probably almost as big as his, enveloped her. They were purple, like her eyes, and strangely light in color, like that of angels. Thorns connected the feathers to her back, but the feathers are not really feathers, but where flowers – lilies, he presumed. No. They were more than just lilies, they look like those that grow in graveyards. Graveyard lilies. _Asphodels_. That's right. A flower that is the combination of death and beauty, truly a manifestation of the wings owner. The vision fades as soon as they appeared before him, and he thought his weariness had made him hallucinate.

But then he realizes now, after much thought, that as demons fall for the second time, their wings envelop them forever, in one last endeavor to preserve their beauty and majesty before they finally vanish from their backs.

In truth, she has become one with her wings. Forever shrouded in beauty and perfection, forever hiding her ugliness. She is no longer fit to be in hell for that. She is free.

Oh Sebastian still yearns for his own taste of freedom. He still yearns to be in the sky. But never without his wings. _Never_. Never without his precious wings – his pride and joy. He will have to continue to look up while still chained to hell and earth, still forced to fight for survival, still forced to find a satisfying meal, still forced to wait and starve before that silver platter is handed to him, still living on that fallen hatchling analogy; waiting and watching intensely as the lucky birds fly about the sky, wingless.

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_Liked it? I did. I had a lot of fun and no sleep typing this all down in one go. There might be grammar mistakes of which I'm too lazy to edit, and so like what I always mentioned in my author's notes in every story: never mind the mistakes and don't tell me, cause its annoying. So long as you had as much fun reading it is enough to get me through my horrible med-student life._

_**To those who have read **__**Demons Fall First**__** (or to those who are now interested in reading it), a not-that-really-special announcement: **__Chapter XI will be posted next week, and if the internet becomes fast enough in this barren place I call my university, I will be posting the many drawings/art connected to the story in my Deviant Art account, of which I will be posting in my profile._

_Thanks for reading this concoction of a oneshot! Don't forget to leave a review for it controls the voices in my head._

_Like always, until I bothered to wrack my brains to write and post again, a pleasant something everybody!_

_-_ SafireLupe, 10-20-2012


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